Comfort in His Arms
by ashley.hillson2012
Summary: TeenLock. Rated M for later chapters. Sherlock moves into town and John and him don't get along but as their lives hit speed bumps and they have no where else to run, no one else to talk to, they find that together they can get through it all. I promise smut more than my other stories.
1. New Kid

John had played football for as long as he could remember. He loved it so much he went to football camp even before secondary school. His parents loved that he was part of football, probably because his twin sister was what they called a failure. John didn't think so but there was little he could do.

So he did what he thought was best: he gave her the love and understanding she needed when she needed it. Like now.

"They would never understand, John." Harry groaned quietly, lying in bed next to him. John smiled sadly, brushing hair from her face. Tears leaked her eye shadow down her face in rivers. He'd stopped trying to clean her face about an hour ago.

"Of course they wouldn't, I know. That's why I never told them about your first girlfriend."

"Dad would have a cow."

"I know."

"He already hates me."

"He doesn't hate you, Harry. He just doesn't understand why you aren't, um..."

"Everything he ever wanted me to be? A ballerina or a straight girl?" John didn't know how to react to that so he just nodded and held her close. Despite her being two minutes older than him-a fact she never let him forget-he was taller bodily and broader in the shoulders. Most likely because he was the male.

For another half hour, before she fell asleep, he continued comforting her. It didn't take much, but it still wore him out. All he basically had to do was tell her she was perfect, as well as her new girlfriend, Clara. He had to constantly let her know that she had no flaws because of her sexuality, regardless of what their father said. It was hard to get her to believe how beautiful she was, and most of the time she never even attempted to act like she thought so, but John knew it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Once asleep, he let himself slow into the world of dreams where his weren't as bad as hers. She told him her nightmares came every night, about Dad finding out about her. John's basically were he got hurt and couldn't play anymore or he never got accepted to be a doctor.

Even he had to admit that his life was pretty easy compared to hers.

The next morning, she was gone. Typical. Their parents didn't even know when she was home anymore for he was center of their attention after work was done, and he didn't mind. It kept their attentions off of Harry and made her even a little bit happier. Anything helped, even if they were all over him to be the best on the team and in class.

"Good morning, John!" His mother cried as he came out of the shower, clothed for the day. He smiled and sat at the table where his plate was already sitting, hot and ready for eating. After exchanging pleasantries, he left for the bus and was headed to school on regular time.

John immediately went to his buddies, for they still had some time. He was greeted with the regular enthusiasm of back slaps, attempted wrestling, and bro hugs. He wrapped his arms around the tiny little cheerleader he called his and she giggled, laying her palms on his chest.

"How was your night?" She asked sweetly, batting her eyes at him. He smiled and brushed hair behind her ear.

"Horrible without you," he whispered as he bent for a kiss. With a smile, she allowed a small peck before wiggling from his arms and taking his hand. He looked back to his friends.

"Anderson! Do we have training tonight?" John new full well practice for the team didn't start for another two weeks. He'd asked Anderson at least once a day for the past two days. It was a thing they did every year and Anderson didn't mind, regardless of what he said.

"No, dammit. Next time you ask me I'll punch you in that perfect nose of yours!" The group laughed and John rolled his eyes.

"As if you could hit straight. That's why you're not a thrower, you're a protector!" Lestrade smacked Anderson on the back, giving him a half smile.

"You're our favorite protector." Lestrade said and Molly, a cheerleader that every said was in love with Lestrade but he couldn't see it, smiled shyly and nudged him gently. He smiled down at her before looking back at Anderson to continue ribbing each other.

During classes, the day was perfectly normal until the class after lunch. John had a basic science class and he was already well aware of the lesson since he'd read ahead in the chapter and actually taught himself a little bit, just in order to keep his grades pretty high so he could keep playing, when the door suddenly opened and a boy walked in.

John looked up from his desk and stared. The boy was shrouded in a long coat that went down to his knees. It looked like heavy wool. The hair upon his head, curlier than most girls he'd seen and dark brown. His skin was pale, almost sickly. The eyes, such a magnificent shade of blue, seemed bored even from John's place in the classroom, which was not close to the door.

"Um... students, we have a new student. Uh..." the teacher, having apparently not expected the boy or maybe forgotten, fumbled around his desk before finding a piece of paper and he licked his lips as he read. The strange looking boy stayed in the front, not looking at anyone but simply staring at the board. "William Holmes?"

"Sherlock." The boy said without looking from the board and the teacher paused, looking at him. Sherlock's voice was deep, vibrating. "I go by Sherlock."

"Oh, uh, Sherlock," the teacher said and the boy, Sherlock, shifted his eyes to the teacher and they held eye contact until the teacher cleared his throat nervously and beckoned Sherlock to the seats.

"Please, students, make Sherlock feel comfortable. He just moved and I'd love it if you could give him a wonderful impression of the school." The teacher mumbled as Sherlock found a seat towards the back of the room.

John looked to Molly, whom was sitting beside him opposite the direction of Sherlock, only to find her eyes huge and staring at the new kid. John rolled his eyes, figuring it was the mysterious air around Sherlock that drew a hungry look on her face. Most likely if he old Lestrade about the drool forming at Molly's mouth he'd finally realize he liked her.

The class passed fairly uneventfully afterwards except that after every few moments, John heard a snicker or dramatic sigh coming from Sherlock's direction. Whenever John looked, the boy seemed more than just bored. Sherlock was obviously thinking the teacher wasn't teaching correctly. Before the class was over, John wanted to stab the kid with his pencil.


	2. Tension

After school, John watched his sister walk away with Clara. Clara had her own flat. Their age difference was only three years and Clara was already set to finishing her second year of college. John smiled, seeing the love both had for one another. He wished he could persuade their father, who thought all homosexuals were the devil themselves, that it wasn't bad to love the other sex.

Sighing, he turned from Harry and Clara as they disappeared, and faced Lestrade. They'd been commenting about football for the last few minutes between their whole group when John pulled Molly over, smiling wide.

"Guess who ogled the new kid!" He called and everyone turned, including Lestrade. Molly turned a red so bright her brown hair couldn't even hide it as she bowed her head. Lestrade focused on her, a look close to jealousy setting his jaw muscles tight.

Thought so, John thought sadistically as he pretended innocence picking on her.

"He just looked so mysterious! He's really cute!" She hit John on the chest and moved out of his reach.

John's girlfriend slipped up next to him, wrapping her fingers between his. "I don't think he's cute." She breathed and he smiled, pulling her close.

"Oh, Addy, why's that?"

"I love it when you call me by my last name, John." She breathed, her eyes focusing deeply into his. Suddenly, he was pulled into her eyes, focused solely on her being. "And I find you more delectable a morsel than any other male, or female, around." Her eyes sparkled and he felt himself tighten in his pants. Before he could ruin the fun with his friends by getting ribbed at for having a boner, he pulled away from her, leaving a knowing smile on her face.

As Lestrade eyed Molly but kept his distance, the group of friends wandered from the school towards the middle of town where they might find something of interest to keep them company until their parents demanded them home.

To keep the parents away from wondering where Harry was, John spent all of his time before bed talking with them. As usually, when he walked through the door, they asked about her but he started talking about how practices started one day closer, as well as showing them the papers he'd gotten A grades on. She wasn't mentioned the rest of the night.

When he'd finished getting ready for bed, John went from his room quietly to Harry's. She was actually lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She started violently as the door opened but she relaxed when she saw it was him.

"Is she nice to you?" He asked as he crawled in next to her.

"Yes, she's an angel. She has this wonderful little kitten she found. It sleeps at the top of the bed with us sometimes." She continued to ramble about how happy she was, whispering all of it into my ear. I kept nodding at her, more than happy for her. Years back, it had been a lot harder on her when our parents devoted most of their attention to me but she seemed to be getting over it. Clara was doing wonders for her.

In under an hour, though, Harry slipped out her window and John slipped back into his bed. There was a window right above his bed, sometimes John opened the curtains and looked outside. Tonight, he could hear the rain and it lulled him to sleep.

For about a month, John didn't see his sister much. She was smart enough to pass school without being there every day. And she was basically a ghost enough in the house that she didn't even show up five out of seven days a week. When he did see her, she would hug him and thank him for everything he did for her.

As well, he spent most classes that Sherlock shared with him grinding his teeth together in an effort to not downright tackle the man to the floor. Once, he came close to saying something but the moment he snapped, the bell rang and Sherlock was out the door before John even stood up.

Practice started and John was almost too busy to spend time with his girlfriend, though she had cheer-leading practice.

One particular day, when John showed up and his girl was in a sour mood, they fought pretty hard.

"I don't see why you can't make more room for me. What do you do before you go to bed? I never get more than a few texts from you a day and most of the time I don't even know if you're with someone else!"

"Irene, I'm not cheating on you." John said calmly, using her first name to point out how serious he was. Unfortunately, she was in the mood to fight and they raged arguments over the next few hours between classes.

This did not bode well for when he sat down in the class he shared with Sherlock, he knew he was going to snap. He knew, the moment the teacher started the class that he wouldn't last long enough. For the first twenty minutes, he griped his pencil as tight as he could, almost snapping it. But when the teacher said something off-handed about a particular project never fully accomplished, though tried countless times and Sherlock didn't even try to hide his snicker.

John stood and spun, surprising the students beside him and making the teacher stop mid-sentence.

"If you think you're so much smarter than the whole class, Sherlock bloody Holmes, why don't you test out and go somewhere else! Let the rest of us learn!" Sherlock didn't move, but kept eye contact with John. The whole class seemed to be holding their breath.

The teacher broke the silence. "John Watson, please go to the office for swearing. Take your things with you." John huffed and piled up his things, storming from the class. Instead of detention, he was told he couldn't do practice tonight.

"But he's always interrupting the class! I can barely get any work done!"

"No one has reported it and it hasn't been an issue. I'll look into it but there's not much I can do today."

With that, John was asked to go to the library for a study hall. Coincidentally, his next class was study hall. Normally, he didn't take it in the library but today he had no choice. He took advantage and got all of his homework done, plus a ton of notes for future chapters. Afterwards, he sat quietly and read a book.

To his surprise, John realized how little time it had taken him to finish everything and get to the book when the bell rang and a bunch of kids came in, checked books out or looked at computers for a few minutes, then left right before a second bell sounded.

About to go back to his book, John suddenly felt his blood boil as he watched a lanky, dark figure walk through the doors. He wore a backpack and a bored expression. He glanced up, his eyes shooting across the room only to see John sitting, all alone, reading. John didn't stop looking at Sherlock as the boy came in, signed for a computer, and got on.

No way John was going to stay in here alone with that kid for the next hour or so. He stood up but the librarian, aware of why John was there, looked up sharply and gave him a warning look. John harrumphed as he sat back down. Not even twenty minutes in, Sherlock removed himself from the computer and walked to the desk John sat at.

For a few moments, John wasn't aware Sherlock had actually stopped in front of him. He looked up from the book to find the sharp blue eyes staring at him coldly.

"The science teacher is an idiot." Sherlock stated flatly, his expression unchanged. John frowned, cocking his head to the side.

"Okay."

"It's obvious. He doesn't know half of what he's talking about."

"I'm pretty sure I didn't ask you."

"No, but you seemed interested earlier. Not many people speak to me in such a way. Most people enjoy my input and am grateful for the correction." John couldn't believe his ears. He sat forward, placing his book on the table in front of him.

"So you're telling me that everyone lets you walk all over them like a big jerk and then are grateful you did so? I highly doubt it."

"I'm not a very liked person."

Both boys stood in silence, John not wanting to talk to the weird kid anymore. Sherlock pivoted without a word and walked between the isles of the books. He picked a few, seemingly at random, and then sat down at another table. He looked through them almost impossibly fast to be actually reading them, let alone getting anything from the pages.

John rolled his eyes and tried his hardest the rest of the time to ignore Sherlock's existence.

After the school day, John literally had no one to spend time with. Irene had told him to shove it in unkind places when he'd tried talking to her after school before she'd gone to cheer-leading, so he stood outside where she'd left him and just sighed, wondering what to do with his life.

After everyone else had gone off, he was still sitting on the school grounds by a tree. Maybe she'd talk to him after practice. Of course, once she was done, he waved her over and she came but she said she just wanted to let him know she was going with some friends and he could go home.

Irate, he watched her wander off with her friends. Practice for football wouldn't be over still for at least an hour and he had steam he needed to be rid of. So he walked back into the school, not sure what he planned, and went to the locker rooms. Maybe he could just sort through his things and see if that would help. He had nothing else to concentrate his mind on.

The moment the door closed behind him from the locker room, he heard a noise and when he went into the showers, he saw a lanky body standing in the steam of the water. Dark, wet hair dripped and threaded together along the curves of the bones under the skin. John took a few seconds to realize his mouth was ajar before he snapped it shut, looking directly into Sherlock's eyes.

Neither said a thing for a few moments and Sherlock didn't move to cover himself. John didn't hide him checking Sherlock out, but he didn't linger in case Sherlock thought anything. The man wasn't a sight for sore eyes.

Wordlessly, John left the locker rooms.


	3. Locker Room Angst

A few more days passed, enough to let the awkwardness of what had happened in the locker room to dissipate. John had, to his dismay, thought about the few moments a lot more than he'd ever admit. As well, John's relationship had only gotten worse. He'd been going to practice but she had been ignoring most of his calls and rarely texting back. She always had plans with her friends, running off to go to who knew what.

Harry was happy, she'd even come to his room the other night and told him she was proud about his grades. That had been a first and he'd been so startled she'd laughed and said he was definitely the best twin. They'd fallen asleep in his bed again that night, only for her to be gone the next morning.

Over the weekend, John did his studies, did his practice, and let Irene have her space. Of course, as always, space was not what helped at all. Monday evening, John caught up with right after practice. Football practice had been cut short due to the coach needing to go home since his wife was called in to work and their young one had the flu.

"You're a real sweet guy, John, and I'm sorry for accusing you of cheating on me. But the last few days has shown me that I like freedom from relationships. Do you think we can just take a break?" John had been unable to say no, or yes for that matter, but instead let her go and stepped away from her. She'd smiled gently and walked way.

John went to the showers and finished later than the other kids. He stomped out but then realized he'd forgotten his bag. It figured, he though, since he was almost out of his mind currently. How could she do this? Was it another guy? Or was she just happier without him?

Working himself up into fury, John stomped into the locker room, the door slamming behind him. He was too worked up to hear the shower running or the small noise from the showers. He went to his locker and opened it, grabbing the things he needed and stuffing them in his bag.

He turned and started, smashing into the lockers. He grabbed himself just as he started to slip. John glared at Sherlock standing there, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping down his body just like before only now there was a towel. For a split second, John asked why Sherlock felt the towel was needed but then he told himself the reason was obvious.

"I have to tell you something." Sherlock said, expressionless as if he hadn't just scared the hell out of John.

"Okay, what? Is another teacher stupid?" John snapped, still worked up over Irene. Sherlock frowned but a moment before shaking his head once.

"No, Irene, your girlfriend, came to me the other day." John stood straight as a pole, glaring holes into Sherlock, who stared straight back, but with less menace. "She asked if I wanted to see her horse whip but of course I don't care for horses so I said no but she asked again. I think maybe you might want to see if her horse is having problems."

John was at Sherlock's throat in no time, one hand against Sherlock's throat and the other on the lockers. He'd slammed the skinny many into them and he'd made a sharp inhale, possibly injured by the padlocks. John wasn't in his right mind to care.

"Horse whip?" John hissed and Sherlock frowned, confused, but nodded. "You didn't go?"

"No, I don't care for horses, like I said." John came dangerously close to the boy, their breath mingling.

"What is it with you and women? First Molly and now Irene?" Sherlock looked confused but didn't reply at all. John bared his teeth but then backed off, releasing his grip. Sherlock, who hadn't resisted at all, pulled himself forward and the towel slipped all the way down. John watched and then looked up, no steam barring any view. Definitely not a sight for sore eyes. Sherlock wasn't shamed, and didn't cover himself up, but rather grabbed the towel and headed back to the showers.

John left without another word.

The next day, Irene didn't say a word or even look to John. He spent his study hall in the library, Sherlock on the computer for only twenty minutes before grabbing some books-new ones-and reading through them. After school he went to practice and he lingered in the showers. When he was the last, he took the longest to dry off and before he could get his shirt on, Sherlock wandered in. He let the door close quietly behind him instead of slam and he made it two steps before seeing John.

John leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, as Sherlock noted his existence and then moved towards the showers.

"How come you're always here? You don't do sports." John called gently, not wanting to be too loud. Sound carried so easily in the locker rooms.

Without pausing in undressing, even though he knew John had followed him to the tiny entryway to the showers, Sherlock said, "at my home, I don't get enough time alone. I like the shower size here."

"Plenty of elbow room." John replied and Sherlock actually cracked half a smile. John felt a tingle in his chest and frowned, wondering what the hell that was.

"Gives me space to think."

"How much thinking to you have to do?"

"You'd be surprised."

When Sherlock started his shower, steam filling the room and water pouring down him, John left. He didn't know why he'd stayed and told himself it was because he was curious why Sherlock stayed.

Harry cried at night in John's arms, her and Clara had fought and she'd suggested she stay home a few days. Clara told her not to come over until Monday after school and it was only Wednesday. John didn't know how to handle her, so he just told her about how beautiful she was and how perfect her and Clara were and maybe Clara was just in need of some space. It was getting closer to the end of the year and maybe finals were tough for her.

When she fell asleep, John didn't go to his own bed like usual but stayed up most of the night with her. She woke up and thanked him before saying she was going to go talk to Clara, even though it was nearly five in the morning. John let her go, sneaking back to his own room, and smiled for how much his sister was in love.

Finding out that Irene had suggested Sherlock see her horse whip, which she actually only owned for kinky pleasure, had nailed the board on the head for John. Their relationship was over and it wasn't because of Sherlock.

Regardless, John was furious when he saw her walk away from cheer-leading with a boy, his arm wrapped around her waist. Even the football practice routine didn't make his fury better and his friends had seen and left him alone. Before long he had the whole locker room to himself. He punched the wall and leaned his head against it, resting his forearms by his head. He let the water run off him, completely forgetting that Sherlock would show up soon.

Without having heard anything, John heard a small, solid knock. He raised his head and saw Sherlock standing next to him, bare butt and slowly getting wet.

"I figure you wouldn't mind if I took my normal shower." Sherlock said as flat as a pan. John stared at him a moment before snapping.

He grabbed Sherlock and, rewarded with a surprised look, pushed the lanky body into the wet wall. Their feet knocked into one another and they almost fell a few times. Sherlock wrapped his arms around Johns ribs for safety and John crushed his body into Sherlock's the moment contact was made to the wall.

They both braced upright just barely, breathing hard. John spared a hand, snapping Sherlock's head down and their lips smashed together. John practically forced Sherlock's lips open, sliding his tongue into the other boys mouth. Sherlock's hands splayed out, touching wet skin. John groaned, tipping his head to the side and deepening the kiss. He switched them over to the other wall, fairly clumsily, and pushed Sherlock under the water to get the boy more wet. In his mind, he wanted to see dark, dripping hair.

Sherlock went with it easily, focusing on foot work as they moved, his hands practically glued to John's body. Once the water was running between them, kissing became priority once again. There footing was also a million times more stable so their hands roamed. When Sherlock seemed to be getting too bold, John shoved him hard into the wall only to jump forward, burying his fingers into Sherlock's curls and thrusting his tongue farther than before. Sherlock groaned into John's mouth, wrapping arms around him again, only this time holding him close.

Anger and rage at the last few days continued to fester and push John, who was not a bit kind to Sherlock as he bent his head down, nipping at the boys shoulders and neck. Sherlock dug nails into John's hips and John, without thinking, bucked. Their hips cracked together and pleasure spun through John's mind. He gasped and took a hold of Sherlock's hips, grinding against him. Sherlock groaned, digging his nails into John's shoulders.

Regardless of the feelings that had brought John to this point, he couldn't bring himself to go any further, so both boys just scratched, nipped, and kissed until the water started to grow cold. It quickly doused their session together and Sherlock let John pull away, breathing heavy.

John left without a word, no shame in his eyes or Sherlock's.


	4. Not So Family Friendly

**Just a heads up, I use "his father/mother" to emphasis that Harry doesn't belong because I don't agree with how her parents treat her. She deserves better parents.**

* * *

Two days later, though neither boy had said on thing to the other, they spent a lot of time in study hall sitting next to each other and showering together. No more kissing or touching happened, they just spent time. Every now and then, they'd share a bit of information about themselves such as that John and Irene were over. Sherlock was a very hard person to get to say anything personal.

Early morning, John rose from the sounds of shouting. Loud, angry shouting coming from somewhere in the house. He shot out of bed, grabbing a shirt closest to him, and launched out of his room. His parents were in the kitchen, Harry and Clara standing before them. John was immediatly worried and confused.

Before either parent noticed him, he found out the problem.

"Your friend can't be here." His mother was saying.

"She is not allowed in this house!" His father boomed, punching the kitchen counter. Both girls jumped and Clara reached a hand out, grabbing Harry's. It only seemed to infuriate their father.

"You konw your dad doesn't agree with... her." His mother was trying to say, but she was so soft he could barely hear it over his father.

"If you want to be with her then you can go with her! But she is not allowed in this home!" His father screamed, smashing his arm across the counter top and knocking everything over. A few knives from the knife carrier clattered across the counter and onto the floor. Everyone jumped.

"I will go with her!" His sister cried out and that started an even louder fight.

John stayed back, hugging the wall. Every scenario he imagined in his head with him going into the room only seemed to make it worse. He wouldn't turn his back on Harry but if he stood up for her, his parents would become even more furious.

He listened to only a few more minutes before his father became completely furious and the two girls screamed and ran from the house. The front door shut with a very loud bang. John shot to his bedroom, determined not to be caught listening in for fear he'd have to give his own opinion on the matter and he didn't want to.

His parents stopped by shortly after, looking as if nothing had even happened, just to "make sure he was getting ready for school." John smiled at them, hoping he gave them the best sleepy face he could muster. They bought it, leaving him to his own and going to get ready for work. Both parents worked first shift which was just fine to both of their kids.

John got his things ready and at the last second, slipped into Harry's room. He grabbed as much clothes and personal things he could fit into her book bag as well as stuffing his own close to ripping. Without either parents the wiser, he slipped out for school, calling behind him to have a good day. He was let go with similar exclamations.

At school, John could barely focus. He couldn't stop trying to remember if Harry had ever mentioned where Clara lived. Thankfully, through, he was able to put it out of his mind for practice. He thinks that maybe he even did better than usual and his coach slapped him on the back.

He did what he usually had started to do, simply sat on one of the benches as the other boys showered. He forgot for the time being as to why he was waiting, only that he told coach he wanted a breather, make sure he got enough fresh air. Like every other day, everyone left him to breathe.

Slowly, he got into the locker room and undressed. A good chunk of the players were already gone when he got in and every one of them was out by the time he stepped into the steam of the hot water. Back to his own mind, he'd been thinking once more.

Harry was gone. She was kicked out and he had grabbed everything he could of hers to make her comfortable. She was gone. The thoughts of it all infuriated him so drastically that he punched the wall one single time and felt skin tear. It felt good when he saw the blood smear across his knuckles.

Everything had just gone down the drain and he couldn't stop it. Harry had come out to their parents. But why? They didn't know she was gay and could have gone on that way! Clara didn't even need to come inside ever. What had possessed Harry to do this? Not to mention, least of all, he'd seen Irene with yet another new boy in the halls. She hadn't even looked at him.

He rubbed a thumb over the knuckles creating more blood that dribbled and mixed with the water. He heard the soft patter of feet and didn't even have to turn around to know Sherlock would be with him soon. He tried hiding the blood but found that rubbing the wound only made it worse. By the time Sherlock came into the showers there was a dark stream coming from his knuckles.

Sherlock paused at the entrance, John turned to him. The blood was obvious. Sherlock walked over to John, careful to keep an eye on John's mood.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked softly, reaching a hand out to the bleeding fingers.

"Just frustrated. Really no big deal." Sherlock made no reaction to give John any idea he even heard him.

"Is it about Irene?" Sherlock asked and John clenched his fingers and ended up with Sherlock's fingers in his.

"Kind of." John felt a blush as Sherlock looked up and down his body.

"You haven't slept well for a few nights. But you're used to it."

"You're deducing again, aren't you?"

"Tell me why your day was so horrible that you had to hurt yourself?"

John licked his lips and shrugged but Sherlock stared into his eyes silently, deeply. Their fingers stayed together, the new blood that flowed mingled between their fingers, mixing with water and dripping down, swirling into the sewers.

"Harry was kicked out of the house this morning. Clara came inside. I don't know why. They got into a fight with our parents." John mumbled and Sherlock frowned.

"Okay." John felt tension coil in his muscles and Sherlock obviously could see it happening.

"I packed a bunch of her clothes and things in her bag and mine. I just don't remember if she ever told me where Clara lives. I can't go home without giving them to her." He tried pulling his hand back but Sherlock's grip tightened.

"I'll help you find her house." Pause. "I know someone who can help."

After a shower where they didn't touch again after Sherlock let John's hand go, the two boys got dressed and headed out the door.

"Harry is my sister. We're twins. She's the oldest by two minutes," John commented aloud as they were walking in relative silence down the street towards the middle of town. Sherlock didn't tell John who they were going to see or where, but he trusted the boy for some reason.

"Our parents aren't real thrilled about her life choices and they've always treated me like I'm a perfect angel. I used it to my advantage to help Harry stay away. They rarely noticed if she was gone all week. Or a whole month."

"Is that why you do football?"

"No, I love it. It's why I'm so good with schoolwork, though. I don't want them to think I'm not as perfect as they want me to be otherwise they may miss her one night."

"You're a very loving brother."

"Compared to my life, she's got it real bad. So I try to help."

They continued on in silence, Sherlock brooding and John not tremendously willing to continue talking about his problems. He didn't really think he had it bad in life. He was a very privileged boy.

Walking down the street, John started to notice a dripping feeling. He looked at found water droplets on his arms. Sherlock was looking at him, water on him as well.

"Rain again." John mumbled and Sherlock nodded. Neither boy had an umbrella but Sherlock had his big coat. "How much closer until..." His question was cut off when a sleek, black car pulled up next to them and a man got out, holding the back door open. John heard Sherlock sigh deep and turn towards the car.

"We're seriously not going to just go with them?" John asked incredulously.

Without looking back at John, Sherlock crawled into the seat and said, "I know them. Hurry up, John, you're getting wet."

With pinched lips, John crawled into the car and was forced to sit flush against Sherlock's body. The big man who'd held the door open sat next to him and practically glared the whole five minute drive. Neither boy said a word though Sherlock looked like he'd just eaten something very unpleasant. John wondered if this was going to take very long.

As the car rolled to a stop in front of a large building John thought he recognized, but not enough to place from where, Sherlock shoved the door open and stepped out almost before the vehicle stopped. John stumbled out behind him, not willing to be alone with that man. Sherlock walked around the back of the car and started up the steps with a purpose. John attempted to look like he knew exactly what was going on.

Once inside the building, a slender man in a butler suit greeted Sherlock formally and Sherlock introduced John as, "Mr. Watson." The butler led the two boys to a study larger than John's living room, which he'd figured was extensive, and told them to kindly take a seat wherever they wished and Mr. Holmes would be out in a moment.

Sherlock plopped down with a sigh and John looked around, quiet nervous.

"Mr. Holmes? Is that your dad?"

"No, my father isn't apart of government."

"Government?" John gaped at Sherlock who waved a dismissive hand as he sulked on the couch, coat collar flipped up. Sherlock's eyes, flat of emotion, looked at John.

"Obviously. Don't you recognize the building? It's always on the news from what my blasted brother claims. I hate the news."

"Oh. What part of the government is he in?"

"He _is_ the government."

Suddenly, a wide door opened and a fairly young, though older than the two boys, man walked in with a suit perfectly fitted to him and an umbrella. His dark hair would have been enough to prove his relation to Sherlock but he was also stiff and business-like with a face that could crack ice by a glance. Sherlock wasn't as bad, but John would bet anything that having this one in the family would make anyone go crazy.

The man walked up, eyeing John and then rounding a desk where he sat in a chair. John suddenly felt tiny and nervous so he sat down in the nearest chair. The man seemed pleased and then looked to Sherlock.

"I hold a minor place in the government," he said calmly but Sherlock made a face that didn't seem to fit his normal face-making parameters.

"You got us a ride the exact moment it started raining when neither of us had an umbrella and I didn't even text you to say we were coming. There's a lot more than 'minor' going on here, dear brother."

"Either way, William, I..."

"Sherlock."

"If you insist, Sherlock. I knew you were coming."

"Have you fallen to spying on me now?"

"Not at all. I've been spying on you for years." John's eyes widened and the looked to Sherlock who had seemingly taken the comment by stride, no emotion on his face. "Now, tell me why you are here. I have other things, more prying matters to attend."

"Yes, your royalness." Sherlock's voice was nearly dripping with visible sarcasm. This was the most vocally intriguing conversation John had seen Sherlock in. Maybe there was more to this blasted boy than a small comfort from teenage problems, John thought.

The elder brothers' face darkened at Sherlock's mocking voice but he said nothing, only waited patiently.

"We need to find someone. My sister," John blurted, seeing as how the two brothers were determined to stare each other down until eternity. The older looked at him without moving his head and Sherlock didn't even move an inch, staring at his older brother. "She, uh, she needs the clothes I have packed for her. She went to live with her girlfriend and I don't know her address."

"Okay, do you have a name?"

"Um. All I know is her first name. Clara. My sisters name is Harriet Watson, if it helps."

"Not really." The older brother looked away from John and stood. "I can try to help though I don't have much to go on. Wait here and try not to break anything. I hold meetings in here and my clients don't appreciate the broken objects you leave behind."

When he'd gone, the large door closed, John turned to Sherlock who was eyeballing a few breakable trinkets. He rose and tipped an empty but dirty tea cup off the desk, smashing into the floor and littering glass shards over a five foot space.

"Why did you do that?"

"It bothers him. No client of him ever gets a chance to see the inside of this room without half a dozen staff to clean between each visit. Besides, I wouldn't if he didn't tell me not to and he knows it."

John nodded even though it didn't make much sense. Why would the man tell his brother to make no mess even though he knew that simple request would spur him to do just that? John was beginning to get the handle that the Holmes' brothers were not so easily understood.

Sherlock stood at the side of the desk and rolled his shoulders. "Tell me if it shifts side to side. I want it to go straight." John opened his mouth to ask what exactly he was moving, but Sherlock just bent, braced himself against the desk, and shifted the whole thing less than an inch. He let out a small grunt before standing and examining the rug underneath for creases.

"It didn't move. Why did you do that?"

"He has OCD and will not notice until he's ran into the thing a few times or so. Makes for a good laugh." He then went and shifted a few other pieces of furniture until his phone buzzed and he looked at it. "Okay, let's go." Without another word, Sherlock left the room from a smaller pair of doors than those his brother had come and gone in. John hurried to keep up.

"Did he find her address?"

"Yes, there's a car in front waiting for us. The rains gotten worse."


	5. Sherlock's Bedroom

**This is the chapter that starts the major M rated content. Enjoy**

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The flat Clara supposedly lived in wasn't glorious, but it was nice and up to date. John rang the flat number. He prayed it was right because the car that dropped them off had already gone. Sherlock didn't seem at all worried, but then again emotion was not a thing he did.

John took a moment to think about Sherlock a moment. Why was he here with him? The only thing they'd ever done was snog in the shower. If any of his friends saw them hanging out...

John's thoughts were interrupted by a voice he didn't really recognize but held out hope it was Clara.

"Yes? I'm not expecting anyone."

"Clara? I don't know your last name but I'm Harry's brother. I have a few things for her." Sherlock looked at John sideways and John just shrugged, pulling his finger from the little intercom button.

"She's a bit busy but you can come up. What do you have?"

"Some clothes and bathroom stuff. I figured she'd want some of it." Without a response, both boys heard a buzz and they quickly opened the door and walked in. The flat was on the second floor and the number was fairly easy to locate. John knocked twice and then waited.

The door swung inward and revealed Clara, a very stressed-out looking Clara. Regardless of how she looked, her smile was radiant.

"Hello John, who's your friend?"

"His name's Sherlock. His brother helped me find your flat."

"He's the government," Sherlock slipped in and Clara looked startled as well as wordless. She motioned for them to sit on her small, two person couch. When they did, she told them to wait a moment and she left the room. Sherlock looked at John a moment before looking away.

"What was that for?" John asked with a huff.

"What are you talking about?"

"That look you just gave me." Sherlock eyed John before raising a brow. When he looked away, it was evident he wasn't going to reply. John sighed and leaned heavily into the couch until his sister, wrapped in a towel, flew into the room.

She didn't pay one mind about Sherlock who looked like he'd just been slapped silly. She wrapped her arms tight around John, bending a strange way to curl into his lap. Sherlock stood and went almost clear to the other side of the room. As Harry cried softly in John's arms Sherlock stood stiff, staring at a wall. Clara came over and smirked at him.

"Don't worry, she won't keep him long."

"I was not worried. They can take as long as they want."

She smiled at him and then turned to see her lover and brother. No matter how she wanted, Sherlock could just tell the two girls would never be as close as them. Twins had a connection that was almost unbreakable and from what John had told Sherlock, this one was already tightly bound.

After the tears and thank yous for her things, and plenty of hugs and good-bye kisses of which Sherlock excused himself adamently, the two boys were off. Not a word was spoken between them as they walked in a slight drizzle. Clara only had two umbrellas and told the boys they could borrow one. So they huddled underneath it as they walked.

Shortly before walking six blocks, John looked at his watch. Not really needing to be home, he didn't understand why he looked.

"Your sister is safe, don't worry." Sherlock breathed in his ear and John dropped his hand, realizing that he'd been terrified for her just seconds ago when he thought she'd be alone with the parents.

"Yeah," John sighed and they kept going. "So, where are we headed?"

"I don't know where you live so I'm taking you to my house." John almost stumbled, caught himself, and coughed awkwardly. They said not a word to each other the rest of the way.

Sherlock's home was quiet large. John wasn't given much time to stand and gawk for Sherlock swiftly went up to the front door and opened it. He waited impatiently as John took the stairs, shook out the umbrella, and then entered.

There was obviously and unspoken rule about shoes, so John felt utter silly wandering the Holmes' house shoe less. He had left the wet umbrella near the front door where a mat had been specifically placed for such purposes, Sherlock informed him.

They were upstairs after going through a ton of big rooms filled with things that looked more expensive than John's house. Sherlock ushered him into a room with a large bed, large floor rug and two large, wooden dressers. There was a chest at the foot of the bed as well as expensive artwork on the walls. A door John assumed was the closet stood slightly ajar. Two windows heavily curtained but pulled aside and open to the outside by way of side hooks, stood tall. A wooden desk with a light stand and chair stood off to a corner of the room, a bookshelf overfilling beside it.

"You can put your bag by the dresser closest to you. Anyone comes in just agree we're doing homework, and if it's my mother, just let her do what she does."

"What does she do?"

"I've never had a friend over, so I don't know." Fair enough.

John turned and put his bag down and as his eyes rose up, he yelped and backed away, almost tripping on his own feet. Sherlock eyed him like he'd gone mad.

"There's a skull on your nightstand, Sherlock. What the hell?" All he received in answer was a half smirk and Sherlock turning his back on him. Realizing no explanation was to be given, he straightened up, tidied his shirt and wandered around the room looking at the artwork. "Your parents have good taste. Unless you picked it, then you do."

"I don't have time for art. My mother believes it will help with my studies." Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and watched John.

"Okay, well. What do you have time for?"

"Nothing, really." John looked at him, eyebrows pulling together.

"Well, Sherlock, I have to admit that you have a wonderful house."

"Please, I know my mother devotes her whole life to making it look like we're a perfect family. Spare me the sentiments."

"Okay, why the hell am I here?" Sherlock stared John down until he started feeling uncomfortable. He felt heat rise in his cheeks and Sherlock stood, walking to him.

"Harry didn't notice your knuckles. They look better."

"She has a tendency to be a drama queen about her life so much she forgets I have one." John realized that not only was that true, but he also didn't mind. She had enough on her plate to worry about and he didn't want her to have a melt down over his knuckles anyway.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled it up to his face. He rubbed the redness next to the broken skin that had early, fragile scabbing. Slowly, he pulled on John's arm which forced John to move forward. When Sherlock tilted his head back up, their faces were less than two inches apart.

John felt a sharp, spiraling heat shoot up his spine and he didn't think he just leaned forward and they were kissing. Instead of being fueled by rage, this kiss was less violent. They took their time, as much time as they could manage, before lips parted and tongues mingled, hands rose and bodies pressed against one another. John had never felt so thankful that a door was closed his whole life.

Without really thinking, since he was past that capability, John pushed Sherlock back, back, back until they tumbled onto the bed. No words were shared as the boys tried keeping lip content as they wiggled up to a comfortable position before they relaxed into each other again. John found his legs uncomfortable so he rose up, putting a knee on each side of Sherlock's hips, and straddled him.

Sherlock's hands shot under John's shirt, long fingers caressing the smooth flesh. Muscles tightened under his finger tips and John bit his lip. He could already feel himself getting hard, Sherlock's fingers roaming farther and coming into contact with his ribs. John gasped but Sherlock shot his head forward, taking the noise into his mouth.

John shivered as his hands tore at the buttons on Sherlock's shirt. Since it had rained, Sherlock had removed his coat and scarf at the door. Now John was just a few buttons away from seeing the smooth flesh he'd touched in the shower. Both boys were breathing hard as the shirts finally came off.

Together, they seemed to be uncertain about going farther than this point, though they'd both seen each other naked many previous times. They continued snogging for a while until Sherlock made an exasperated sound and, with strength John didn't realize the lanky body had, flipped him onto his back. In under five seconds John's pants were unbuttoned and unzipped. Not wanting to give Sherlock the idea of stopping, John did the same to his pants. When Sherlock braced himself between John's thighs and ground their hips together, arm muscles rippling, John threw his head back.

Wordlessly, they slipped from almost casual snogging to clawing at each others' pants. John gave up on Sherlock for the moment and arched his hips. The pants practically flew off and to the side of the bed. Immediately Sherlock spread his hands over John's thighs and caressed the tender skin of his inner thighs. John groaned and placed his hands atop Sherlock's.

Obviously not wanting John's help, Sherlock removed his own pants and then returned only to suggestively slip so close to John's hips but then moving back enough to not touch him. John didn't take too kindly and pushed his hips up, practically bucking Sherlock off.

"Next time, think about how strong a footballer's legs have to be." John breathed, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's shoulders as the boy came back to him. Sherlock smirked and kissed John.

Over the next few minutes, they built the passion back up after their little playful incident. Before long, even Sherlock was panting with what John would bet was desire. Again, they seemed unsure about where to head from here. Rubbing and gentle bucking had gotten them practically quivering.

John reached between them, figuring Sherlock had been the one to advance first last time. If he got rejected, at least he knew where to stop. Sherlock didn't pause a beat, only rose his chest to give John ample space to go down. For the first time, John felt another mans hard length in his hand. Desire-filled passion had him shove his hand into Sherlock's briefs and grab fully on. Sherlock, apparently not having expected the skin contact, inhaled sharply and his whole body shivered. John got a large amount of pride as he stroked slowly up and down twice, gaining the most delicious bout of shivers he'd ever seen on a human being.

Sherlock leaned heavily on one hand and stuck the other into John's pants. Suddenly and for a while, they were both rocking in each others' hands, straining to keep a good rhythm. John felt it first, the wild escalation. He could tell that it was going to be a wonderful orgasm and he only hoped to god that Sherlock's would be just as amazing.

Both men raised their tempos, straining and gasping, attempting to keep their lips together as their muscles bulged. To John's surprise, Sherlock pinched his face and moaned. He felt Sherlock's length practically pulse and his hand was covered in white, stickiness. John, hearing Sherlock's strangled, barely contained moans, released a split second afterward. They rubbed each other until they felt no more pulsing and then they lay together, breathing hard and satisfied.

Wordlessly, John rose after he got his breath back and dressed. Sherlock eyed him before doing the same. John checked his clock once he saw that it was completely dark outside.

"I hate to do this, but..."

"You can go. I kept you long enough anyway." Sherlock int interrupted him. When they were both decent and John had his things, Sherlock walked him to the door and there was a car with a man dressed in a fancy suit holding open a door. Sherlock sighed deep and irritated. John could only guess.

"What's your brothers name anyway?" He asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Mycroft. Tell him to bugger off, yeah?"

"I'll tell him worse than that if he doesn't take me straight home." John promised and Sherlock relaxed a fraction before closing the door.

John entered the car and was surprised when he came face-to-face with Mycroft Holmes.


	6. Confused Passions

**I unleashed my sex-writing beast and I'm not really sorry. There's so much smut and straight-up porn from here on out. Enjoy because I did :)**

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"My brother doesn't have friends. State your intention before I threaten you out of his life."

"I have a feeling you're going to do that anyway." John remarked, looking at Mycroft and feeling beyond uncomfortable with how close the man was. John honestly didn't feel like he had to spell out the fact that Sherlock was simply helping John for the day. Nothing more.

"I take it you're not going to peacefully tell me."

"There's nothing to say. Are you taking me home?"

"Yes." Mycroft eyed John in a way that seemed familiar but only because Sherlock did the same thing. In silence they sat. It wasn't too far of a car ride from Sherlock's home to John's.

"Oh, John?" Mycroft called out as John started exiting the car. John turned to face him, a strangely scary look on Mycroft's face. "I will only warn you once. If you don't believe anything is between Sherlock and you, leave him alone. Sherlock does not have friends or companions. He will take your weaknesses and use them against you if he can get what he wants or simply feels like it. My little brother is an animal, John Watson."

"What could he possibly want from me?"

"That's what I'm wondering."

John stepped back from the car and hiked his bag farther up his shoulder as he watched Mycroft's car disappear. John went inside and leaned against the front door as soon as it clicked shut. He shivered so violently he had to shake his head side to side. It was almost half hour past the time he was usually in his room for the night. He couldn't even begin to wonder how his parents would react.

Putting his thoughts away for later, if ever, he strode into the house. To his utter surprise, both parents were asleep. A note on the table claimed dinner was in the fridge and threatened him to not make a lot of noise, as well as professing their love of him. John found cold kielbasa stew in the fridge and heated some up. He showered again to try and remove the creeps Mycroft had given him and crawled into bed where he forced himself to keep the thoughts away.

In his sleep, he dreamed of Sherlock.

The messy locks of dark, smooth hair splayed out underneath Sherlock's head. His lips, puffy from kissing, curved in a languid smile. John saw his arms holding himself up on either side of Sherlock while the other boys arms were wrapped tightly around his chest.

Slowly, as it is always in dreams, John realized he was rocking back and forth, but not very gently or slow. He also became very much aware of the groans and moans that belonged to him as well as those he recalled coming from Sherlock. He saw the fascinating eyes that, up until this moment, he hadn't realized they weren't exactly blue. They were filled with colors and he found himself lost within the two orbs.

He could feel the tightness wrapped around his most intimate length and when he finally could tear his gaze away, he looked down and saw himself and Sherlock connected together in the most intimate way possible. In slow motion, he pulled his hips back and he watched his length reveal itself. The knowledge that he was buried inside of Sherlock spurred his need and he bucked, burying himself deep. Sherlock didn't quiet cry out, but his grunt was a tad bit louder than before. John braced and started going harder, faster.

Before his eyes, Sherlock grew hair across his bare chest. It crawled like little bugs up his neck, down his arms and legs. As his face grew furry, his eyes changed to a deep red and his teeth lengthened, sharpened. Claws that were once his fingers dug into John's back, tearing flesh.

"I will destroy you!" Sherlock growled so deep John felt the reverberations shake his insides.

John shot out of bed, covered in sweat and breathing rapidly. The dream-nightmare-was over and he'd woken up just as he'd felt sharp teeth ripping into the flesh of his neck. He found his hand holding his neck, gently touching for marks. He looked at the sole window in his room, covered by a beige curtain, and saw the rising sun. It wasn't the time he normally woke up but it was too early to go back to bed.

He got out of bed and, still wrapped in bits of the nightmare, checked his sheets for blood. When he wandered to the bathroom for his morning shower, regardless of the fact he'd taken one last night, and checked his back in the mirror. No marks. No blood.

In the shower, freezing cold water poured over his body. He had still been rock hard when he'd woken up since Sherlock had been a monster maybe a few seconds of the dream. The way Sherlock had looked was enough to make John not want anything pleasurable for the duration of the morning.

His mother about choked him with a hug the moment he entered the kitchen. She didn't mention or ask about his absence last night and it was as if he had never been gone. She'd made omelets with all the fixings as well as freshly squeezed orange juice. Of course, since he'd woken up earlier than usual, he had to wait for it. His mother insisted he not lift a single finger to help cook, though he did have chores on the weekends.

"Too busy with school and sports. Have to keep your mind on the important things." His dad would explain when John got curious every now and then why she was so anal about babying him. He was perfectly capable of doing for himself.

Once off to school, the bus rowdy considering it was Friday, John tried to put the image of Sherlock out of his head. For fucks sake, it was one time they gave each other hand jobs. He still couldn't stand the guy during class. They weren't friends and Mycroft had no reason to warn him off. John knew Sherlock was a heartless bastard.

Deep in thought, he didn't realize when a young girl, possibly a year or two younger than him, slipped into the empty spot next to him. Only after realizing he was in deep thought did she shove him gently to get his attention. His eyes slid over and he smiled.

"What's up, D?" He drawled, trying his best southern american accent only to fail horribly and make a pinched face.

"First off, don't ever do that again. And second, if you want me to sit next to you, don't call me D. I prefer Donovan. If you're going to call me by anything, suffer through it the whole way, yeah?"

"Yeah, I promise on both. So, you going to sit next to me now?" John reached up and felt her dark curls. She cocked her head into his hand and smiled wide.

"If you don't have a problem, I'd love to do more than sit on the bus with you." John nodded and their fingers wound together. John had never really noticed her before, but he knew of her. She didn't take shite from anyone and she'd actually tried out for the football team but apparently the coach had to back out because she was a girl. Also, she was Anderson's step sister. She rarely was seen with him but the whole school knew

John spent a good chunk of his morning before class hanging out with Donovan. He pulled her over to his group of friends and she got along quiet well with everyone. John even forgot about Sherlock up until class together later that day.

He sat down and could feel eyes digging into his back. John didn't pay attention to any of the lesson. When he went into the library, since he was so used to them both just hanging out in the same space. Sherlock went about his usual business on the computer and then he picked out two random books without seemingly glancing at them. He plopped down with a very audible thump in the seat directly in front of John, which was unusual, and practically abandoned the books he'd grabbed.

John looked up from his studies and found Sherlock eyeing him with eyes that suggested he was looking for something. Or doing that weird deduction thing he did with everyone else. John figured he'd wait until Sherlock done being himself for five seconds.

"There were mentions you are dating Donovan." Sherlock finally said. His deep cadence gave away no emotion so John couldn't tell how he was reacting to the news.

"Yeah. We started this morning." John lifted a shoulder in an attempt to show Sherlock how uninteresting the topic was.

"At least it's not Irene." John couldn't help but snicker.

"Yeah, good lord."

Feeling more comfortable, John relaxed and eyed Sherlock as the boy picked up one of the books he'd chosen and practically grimaced, if Sherlock could make such a facial expression.

"Why weren't your parents home last night?" John blurted and Sherlock didn't even seem remotely surprised at the question.

"They are on a business trip for my father. Mother doesn't trust him to not sleep with every woman who walks by him so she goes along."

"Leaving you all by yourself."

"It's quiet and I don't mind. I can play my violin all night if I wish."

"Oh." John left the topic alone. He hadn't realized Sherlock played the violin but then again he didn't know much about Sherlock. He knew about his brother who had threatened him away because Sherlock was an animal. Suddenly, the nightmare reared it's ugly head in John's mind and he flinched but covered it up by pretending he'd been bit by something on the leg.

Football practice was about as boring and repetitive as it had ever been. John had never been so thankful when coach told them to hit the showers. John sat on the bench and wiped his brow. There was no way getting around spending alone time with Sherlock that night. If he didn't show, he almost knew that Sherlock would ask Mycroft for his address and show up. It would do horrible things to John's dad and possibly start a feud that wouldn't even end when John was kicked out.

Sighing, John made up a whole spiel about how they had to stop seeing each other. He included all the reason why they couldn't be so intimate without even being that close. He thought up every excuse as to why it just wouldn't, couldn't work. Yet nothing worked when Sherlock stepped into the locker room and his eyes found John. John had been sitting on the bench, determined to talk Sherlock into forgetting about their past few days.

Yet tingles of expectant pleasure to come blossomed along his spine and he stood from the bench he'd been sitting on. Sherlock raised a fine, dark brow and strode over. This was the first time John hadn't been in the showers already, waiting in the warm steam.

Before John could remember he'd been planning on breaking the arrangement, Sherlock's fingers were against his skin, hands pushing up his shirt. John breathed out, practically falling down. Sherlock smirked at the reaction he got and pulled back a bit, fingers resting on their tips against John's ribs.

Without words, the two boys undressed and turned the water on hot. They waited for the heat to rise and steam to collect before they entered the stream. John was aware of how bad this was up until he leaned down and pressed his lips against a lone drop of water on Sherlock's shoulder. It tasted deliciously amazing. He wanted more.

Almost with a frantic need, they pressed against each other and kissed with a strength that could have left bruises. John felt the need rise in him faster than the night before, possibly due to the dream. He wondered if Sherlock felt that amazing in real life. Before he could even consider what his actions would start, John reached his hands around and grabbed Sherlock's butt firmly, pressing his hips tight against Sherlock's. With an almost startled noise, Sherlock pulled his had back and looked at John's face.

John knew the look on his face was wrapped with passion and need, he just hoped he hadn't gone too far. In answer to John's unasked yet largely hinted at question, Sherlock backed himself up against the wall and aimed one of the shower heads as close to them as he could. Water spilled between them, heating their bodies up wondrously. Without further adieu, John grabbed Sherlock's thighs and lifted him up. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John and they kissed, positioning themselves.

Wondering exactly how this was going to work but not willing to downright ask, John fumbled a bit before Sherlock grabbed a hold of his length, pulling a surprised intake from John. In very few seconds, John felt himself push up against a tight opening and pushed gently upward. Sherlock groaned in response. Taking the groan as encouragement, he pushed farther. The feeling was utter bliss. Possibly a million times better than his dream, if not more.

Gasping, the boys found a gentle rhythm. Not too long and John had himself all the way up to the hilt. He pushed up higher, putting pressure on his base, and paused. It felt so good to him he didn't want it to stop. Sherlock nipped his neck, apparently thinking John was taking too long. To oblige, John pulled back and slammed up. John pressed his lips to Sherlock's to stifle the strangled intake that came close to a moan. Sound carried very well in the locker rooms.

Losing track of time, they clung to each other as they both escalated upwards, John spared a hand and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's length, setting the motions in sync with his hips. It seemed to drive Sherlock crazy for he squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head back. John couldn't help but stare at the creature before him, so bloody sexy. He'd never really put a word to it before now but that was what Sherlock was, down to his bloody toes: sexy.

Realizing the strangled groans and grunts that mixed with his own were from this sexy creature, key word sexy, John felt himself practically jump to the edge of the cliff and he gasped when Sherlock pulsed in his hand. He swears, they both came at the same time. They crashed their faces together, drowning out each others noises as the water washed the evidence away.

John slowly pulled out and dropped Sherlock down. They then washed up and dried off, dressing. Sherlock held John's hand for a few seconds, looking at the well defined scabs across his knuckles.

"Are you going to see Harry?" He asked rather out of the blue.

"I still have to give Clara her umbrella back, yeah." John eyed Sherlock as the boy grabbed his bag and mentally slapped himself. He remembered all too well having called Sherlock sexy and even though they'd just had sex, he felt the desire for it again already rise. How was he supposed to kick the weird relationship they had together like Mycroft suggested? John may not agree that Sherlock was an animal, but he knew Sherlock had few, if any at all, feelings. Feeling this needy over him so early after their first snogging session was rediculous. He'd never craved a girl so much, or even quicker than a month after she was brought to his attention. Usually it was just the body or the company, but with Sherlock it was everything.

"Come with?" John suggested and Sherlock eyed him suspiciously before shrugging and nodding. The boys left the school and turned towards town.


	7. Problems With Romance

Since he'd seen her yesterday, John didn't have much to tell Harry except that he got a new girlfriend and that their parents were just as crazy devoted to his life as ever. Harry blabbered for almost a whole hour about her day. Sherlock and Clara sat in the kitchen drinking tea. At first Sherlock came off as completely rude and non-talkative but Clara kept bugging him so he eventually sighed and answered her question.

"I'm doing just peachy." He stared at her with an almost bored glare. She smiled wide.

"How did last night go?"

"Last night? We got rained on. The umbrella was nice."

"Not the umbrella, Sherlock. I'm not stupid. I see you for the kind of person you are." Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he stopped drinking the tea. What was she getting at?

"I can't recall what you could possibly mean." She leaned close, whispering.

"I see Harry is terrified of being gay but she is very open about it. John is her twin, you don't think it's likely that he's attracted to you. Plus, you're sitting funny. I know something happened."

Sherlock sat back and eyed her like she'd grown a fourth, possibly fifth head. He was sitting just fine, he thought, given that he was sore. Not many people would notice the slight difference especially since he hadn't been sitting when they'd met or any time from then to now. He tried to find anything at all that could possibly give him an answer as to her knowledge.

"I hear what the kids say about you Holmes' boys. You're not the only intelligent and rather unlikable person capable of deducing other people. You don't usually sit that way I can tell by how you sat down the first place. You grimaced just slightly and then had to situate yourself. Most people wouldn't have noticed but I was looking for it. John as well is sitting very much more relaxed than yesterday. I'm guessing it has nothing to do with his new girlfriend."

Sherlock was downright shocked, but he didn't say anything or show any reaction. He knew intelligence was out there, he knew he wasn't alone, but Clara was so normal. She was so kind and loving to Harry and so functional.

"I won't tell Harry because it's not my place but don't hurt John. He's a very sweet boy and it would in turn hurt Harry." Clara's face darkened and Sherlock grew immensely interested. "And if you hurt Harry, I will hunt you down and you won't have to worry about a small ache in your arse when you sit. Or any other thing ever again."

"Did you just threaten me?"

"Go take your turned-on male parts and give John another run for his money." She replied smartly and Sherlock actually found himself smiling, albeit lightly.

The conversation was much lighter after that and it was soon ended when John rose from the couch and came to get Sherlock.

"Harry said she's done with my funny face." He said solemnly and then smiled over his shoulder. Sherlock stood and nodded farewell to Clara who nodded back, a broad smile lighting her face. Harry waved from the couch as the two left the flat.

Sherlock hailed a cab. He looked at John as he stood in the open doorway of a cab that had finally pulled over.

"I won't ask," Sherlock breathed and John stepped up and slid into the interior. Sherlock joined him and soon they were stepping out, heading up to the large door to Sherlock's home. John felt knots tighten in his stomach. He knew he shouldn't be here. He knew there was no point in coming. He should have gotten a different cab or stayed in the other one, telling the guy to take him home.

Instead he was removing his shoes inside the house. He was following Sherlock as they boy led him to a large room that held a large expanse of musical instruments which included a violin. Sherlock took it up and readied it on his chin. The noise that came from it silenced any doubt to the voice inside John's head that may have suggested Sherlock wasn't a sexy beast. Why he suddenly went from sexy to sexy beast probably had a lot to do with the violin.

Never having thought about the draw of musical instruments, John was beyond fascinated as he scoped out the room. He asked Sherlock if it was okay to touch and Sherlock nodded. There was a small harp that John picked and he attempted to play it. Sherlock made a face and John laughed, putting the piece back.

After a few failed attempts at other small instruments, Sherlock pulled him to the piano. John stared at the keys and the sheets of music.

"I have no idea what I'm doing here." He confessed and Sherlock actually chuckled. John decided he loved the hell out of the sound.

"Here, I learned when I was six." Sherlock slid beside him and placed his hands over John's, showing him where to press. In about twenty minutes, they'd made beautiful music. John didn't think he'd done anything so beautiful his whole life. Then again, he was more of a splash-in-the-mud kid.

"Do you think you could show me the violin? You sound bloody amazing on it." John questioned and Sherlock grabbed the violin and showed John how to hold it. The feeling of the instrument was foreign but not bad. It was much harder than the piano and John didn't make more than a dozen notes that didn't sound like dying animals.

"Maybe not." Sherlock suggested and John agreed with a blush. They left the room and traveled to the study where Sherlock said he wasn't allowed when his father was home. "He's a very strict man. Kind and loving to my mother and us kids, but he gets what he demands."

The room was immense, books covering the walls and the two large, wooden tables. John didn't think he'd ever have enough time in the world to read them all. They didn't spend much time in there. Sherlock didn't seem to know what to do next and John understood that he was most likely the first person Sherlock ever brought home. So he suggested to go back to Sherlock's room.

Once there, Sherlock relaxed immensely and lied down on the bed. John joined him and they cuddled. It was a new feeling to John but he very much so enjoyed it.

"The locker room. Uh, you were fairly okay with it." John blurted after a few moments of silence. The events that had occured had silently been lingering in the back of his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He didn't know why.

Sherlock eyed John. "It wasn't my first time. If that's what you're wondering."

"Really?"

"A few months before we moved here I stopped seeing a, well, I wouldn't call him a friend. Anyway, he was my first. After that, the months before we moved, I had a few swings with another guy and a girl." John didn't know how to react. He definitely wasn't a virgin but it just seemed odd imagining Sherlock with so many choices. "If you care to know, I don't speak with them any more. I was a fling for all of them."

"Were they a fling to you?"

"Don't be sentimental, John." Sherlock said, stiffening in John's arms. John could feel him mentally and emotionally pulling back.

"I'm not. I just don't understand you so well."

"Perhaps for the best. Mycroft was in the car last night, wasn't he?"

"Yes..." John wasn't sure about the change in subject but he was downright positive he was feeling nervous. After a few moments of realizing Sherlock wasn't going to ask anything else, John felt obliged. "He threatened me."

"Typical."

"Does he usually threaten people?"

"Mostly. It's his thing." Sherlock waived a hand in the air, emphasizing an imaginable object. "What did you say?"

John didn't know how to respond. Last night he hadn't had that dream. He hadn't used the word "sexy" or the phrase "sexy beast" in correspondence to Sherlock. He hadn't felt excited to see him and they hadn't downright fucked. But then again, nothing had really happened between them, relationship-wise. Mycroft had warned him to stay away and he did, emotionally.

"I told him he had nothing to worry about. I'm aware of how little you care for things or people."

"Incorrect. I care about my experiments and violin." John gave him a blank stare and Sherlock shrugged. It as almost painful for John not to hit him.

After that particular comment, neither said a word. They lay still, breathing softly, listening as it started to rain.

"Donovan doesn't care for me."

"Honestly, Sherlock, not many people do. From what I can tell, Mycroft barely tolerates you."

"Mycroft never matters. And it doesn't hurt my feelings. I was just pointing it out. She told me to never speak to you."

"You didn't listen."

"Obviously. I do what I wish, not what others tell me to do."

John forced himself not to respond. He was glad Sherlock hadn't listened. But then again, he wouldn't be in the mess he was currently in. The words Mycroft had said about Sherlock tearing him down kept spinning in his head. The dream never left either.

"What do football players do on Saturdays?"

"Nothing except sometimes we have games."

"I'm guessing there is none."

"Nope. They don't start until next weekend."

Silence followed and John didn't know what else to talk about. There were a thousand things that should have been asked, said, but not one seemed to fit the moment. He didn't want to ruin their time any more than he already had.

After about another hour, John finally rose and Sherlock showed him out. Silently, John prayed to whoever was listening that Mycroft wouldn't be outside the door even though it seemed impossible. Yet he'd known last time.

There was a car but before John could have a heart attack, Sherlock mentioned that he'd called a cab.

"I already told them to come back and I'd pay. Don't worry about it."

John nodded and climbed in. He already missed Sherlock.

Right before he thought the cabbie would start driving, the window rolled down and he looked out. Sherlock was bent over, looking at him.

"Mycroft may be an idiot but he is rarely wrong. Whatever he told you, think about it."

"I don't want to." John whispered, licking his lips. Sherlock eyed the boy's tongue a moment before looking back at his eyes.

"I'm not a nice person." With that, he backed from the cab and the window rolled up. Sherlock didn't even wait to see him off, just turned and went towards the house. He was inside, the door closed, before John was off the grounds.

Monday evening, after practice, John waited. On time, as usual, Sherlock made his way into the already steaming shower room. He glanced at John before carefully making his way over.

"If your parents aren't home, why do you come here for silence?" John pondered and Sherlock breathed in the scent of John, sweaty and manly.

"I told you, I like the open area just as much as the silence. Now, tell me why you are here."

"Showering after practice." John mumbled and Sherlock pulled back, eyeing him skeptically.

"You could have showered forty minutes ago, why wait?"

"I always wait for you. Besides, Mycroft can't scare me away from you."

"I think you're the first person outside of the family who's ever said no to Mycroft, or even challenged his word." Sherlock paused, tracing his fingers up and down John's spine. "There is a thing with us, then?"

"Well, yeah, Sherlock." John pulled back and looked into Sherlock's eyes, seeing a fierceness he'd only seen when the boy was studying.

"I don't do things halfway, John. I've been relaxed about what's been between us to see if you can get used to it. I don't like being played with and if you aren't going to take me seriously. I require you to make up your mind about us, and soon, if you will." His hands had stopped moving across John's back.

They stood in silence, letting the water cover them, as John thought. To his utter dismay, he realized that not only did Sherlock basically tell him they were to become a couple, but that he was actually okay with it. More than okay. He realized, with growing dread that it had been days, weeks even, since he'd last been annoyed in class. If he wasn't ignoring Sherlock in order to concentrate on his work, he was holding back snickers and laughter.

He hadn't thought about what they were doing, actually. He hadn't braced himself for putting a name to the showers they took together, the kisses they shared, not to mention the sex. The sex had been so amazing the two times that he'd withheld himself from his "girlfriend' just to keep his libido up for just in case.

It was here, now, that John realized he'd fallen for Sherlock. Calling him sexy in his head the other night when they'd been rolling around in pleasure had literally just been a heads up from his mind. "Hey, dumb ass, you like this."

The water dripped from Sherlock's hair onto his face in rivulets. It was the damn sexiest thing he'd ever seen and he never wanted to hold another girl like this again. He didn't want another male, either. He wanted Sherlock, always, arms wrapped around him and feeling the water wash from his body onto his, mixing smells. John opened his mouth to tell Sherlock exactly that, let him know that he was, without a doubt, committed.

But just as the words started to form, he saw his father. He saw Harry being yelled at, threatened, the look on her face every night she'd cried to sleep. The terror he knew she felt when his father would fly into the house after drinking and demand to know why she hated him so, why she punished him so.

The images made him close his mouth and he stepped away from Sherlock. It was almost devastating, the look of hurt and confusing that seemed to shatter Sherlock for a moment, before being replaced by a wall.

John couldn't shake the images of his furious father, even though he knew Sherlock could probably guess he was suddenly terrified. John shook his head and backed away, already feeling the loss of Sherlock like an empty hole in his chest. Why did he have to realize he'd fallen for him?

"I can't, I just... can't," John mumbled over and over again as he left the showers, missing the look Sherlock gave him, which, if described, would have been between determination, confusion, and irritation. John dressed still damp and rushed from the locker rooms.

Sherlock turned the water off and slowly dried off. He wasn't upset. He was curious. John had looked stunned after the proposal, of sorts, and then had looked thoughtful, as if he loved the idea. But just before he'd said something to Sherlock, of which he knew would have been along the lines of "yes," John's face had turned to almost horror. It wasn't towards the thoughts on the relationship Sherlock had suggested, but the twitching and the suddenly darting eyes meant there was something darker keeping John at bay.

Knowing he was going to eventually have to speak with Mycroft in order to get John's address, Sherlock took his time dressing. The conversation would be easy enough, Mycroft would either get over John still being in Sherlock's life or not. Either way, Sherlock knew he'd be at John's home before too long.

There was a horrible secret that Sherlock felt he'd missed. Something going on inside John's life that was horrible enough to keep Sherlock at bay. Maybe his family knew his parents, or Mycroft, and had warned John away. That didn't explain the shower room, though.

Picking his phone up as he strode out the doors, Sherlock figured he'd just have to be patient another hour or so.


	8. Helping to Forget

**Sorry for the delay**

* * *

John lay in his bed, having put the locker room far behind in his mind. He wanted to get some sleep, there was a test tomorrow in a few of his classes. The year would be over soon and he couldn't remember when the last day was that he hadn't spent with Sherlock in the showers.

Sighing, he put the thought out of his mind and rolled over. The most comfortable thing about being home right now, when both his parents were asleep, was the soft cricket noises. It sounded almost like a marsh outside his window. The rain was soft, a patter on his window.

A mixture of the regular noise of the rain as well as being half asleep, John didn't at first here the soft knocking. Gradually, it grew louder and more consistent. John sat up and rubbed one of his eyes, keeping himself up with the other hand. Confused, he looked around the room and eventually figured the knocking was from the window. Unsure who that could be but still dazed from tiredness, he scooted his but a few inches and then shifted the curtains. He couldn't see anyone, but he saw a hand press against the window.

John didn't want whoever it was to stay in the rain so he opened the window. In crawled a tall, skinny boy. His hair was soaked to look black but John knew who it was right away. Sleep started falling from him like the rain would wash away sand. He watched with intense eyes as Sherlock slipped of the bed and gently removed his wet coat and scarf, opening the closet door and hanging them up the best he could.

When he was satisfied, Sherlock turned to John.

"You owe an explanation." His dark voice thrummed through the air. John was at least happy the boy spoke in whispers.

"About what?"

"You left me in the shower." Sherlock came to the bed and stood half a foot away from John. John felt heat flush to his face as he realized he could bend down and rest his head against Sherlock's crotch.

"I did," John agreed but gave no explanation. Sherlock huffed and spun, stalking back and forth with his fingers twined behind his back. John was thankful the floor didn't squeak.

"What kept you from me?" Sherlock practically hissed as he spun, placing both hands on John's shoulders. Without flinching, John looked up at Sherlock and blinked. He didn't fear him, he wasn't intimidated, and John knew Sherlock wasn't used to such behaviour towards him. It was almost sad to realize people either hated Sherlock or feared him. What loneliness that must be.

Even so, John couldn't find a way around the fear he'd felt before. He couldn't get the images that had flashed through his brain out of his head. He looked away from Sherlock's eyes, relaxing his shoulders to let the boy know it was over, there was no fighting left.

"No," Sherlock said and pushed John over. He crawled into bed with him and John panicked. He shot out of bed and flipped over Sherlock. He felt fingers grasp at him, a grunt once John had bounced off the bed, and knew he'd screwed everything up when he thumped loud and hard onto the floor. Sherlock looked not only hurt, but tremendously confused.

John scrambled up and grabbed Sherlock's arm, yanking him from the bed. Once standing, John threw on a shirt and longer pants. Breathing hard and panicking, he eyed the door and then shot his eyes to Sherlock who suddenly looked very emotionless. John stared at the boy, their eyes connecting solidly until the loud thumping of footsteps down the outside hallway drove John's worst fears to boil over and Sherlock's face took on a sudden clarity.

The exact moment before the door slammed open, Sherlock dove under the bed and was perfectly hidden with both his coat and scarf. John was so relieved he could barely speak.

"What in the hell happened in here?" His father demanded as he stepped in and his eyes roamed the whole room. John cleared his throat and said the first thing that came to mind.

"I must have had a bad dream. I woke up and heard the rain and freaked out. Jumped out of bed." His father looked at him, long and accusingly.

A few more moments of awkward, angry silence and his dad closed the door and left. John felt himself shaking as Sherlock slipped out from under the bed and stared at him, the long, dark locks haphazardly resting against his forehead. There was a softness to his expression as he pulled his coat back on. John looked at him, not willing to admit he was ashamed, not willing to acknowledge why he was afraid.

Sherlock didn't say anything. He simple reached out and John let him grab hold of his arm, pulling him to a hug. After a few moments, John didn't get uncomfortable but he stiffened, terrified his father would come back in. Sherlock, now probably fully understanding, let go and backed off.

"I didn't know," Sherlock whispered and John shrugged. "Will you... will you trust me?"

John looked at Sherlock a few moments, debating, but then realized the answer was obvious and would never change.

"Yes."

They had climbed out the window and were making their way through the wet grass in under a minute. Sherlock had a firm grip on John's hand as he led him to the road and they walked hand in hand for about an hour until they came upon Sherlock's home.

"My parents are home," Sherlock murmured. It was the first thing said between either of them the whole walk. John shrugged, letting him know he didn't mind. Sherlock led him straight through the front door, urging John to remove his shoes and wet coat. Then, he led the boy up to his room.

In the bedroom, door closed, John suddenly became nervous. He knew his father would not run in at any moment, nor was he likely to find that John was gone, but the anxiety remained.

"They won't mind." Sherlock assured John as Sherlock slipped out of his clothes and into a more comfortable pair of pants. He pulled a similar pair out of the drawer and handed it to John who took it but made no move to change.

Slowly, Sherlock slipped his hands under John's shirt and lifted up. John complied, something close to shame in his eyes. Ignoring it, seemingly, Sherlock slipped John's britches off his legs. He paused at his pants and, after glancing up at John who was watching him with curious eyes, slipped them off as well. Naked, John oddly felt more comfortable and less shameless than when he'd been fully clothes.

Instead of allowing Sherlock to put the pajama bottoms on him, John put a hand onto his head, burying his fingers into Sherlock's dark curls. Smiling, Sherlock looked up and slowly rose. He backed John up towards the bed and they fell in a tangle of limbs.

Seeing absolutely no remnants of the shame he'd seen moments before, Sherlock became emboldened. He kicked his own pants off and dove into John's arms, kissing him with a ferocity he had never felt before. He put aside in his mind that John had a girlfriend or that his father was a brutal man. He stopped thinking about anything and just started feeling. Feeling John's skin under his finger tips, his bare flesh against his. The idea of John naked under him made shivers of pure passion rise goose bumps across his arms.

Twisting and wriggling, the boys made it under the thick, comfortable sheets. As a new thing to try out, Sherlock made John lie still as a rod as he slowly went down his body, kissing and nipping at every crevice and rib bone. The farther down he got, the harder it seemed for John to keep his hips still. Eventually, Sherlock nipped John in the hip, telling him to calm down. John stilled the best he could, shivering as if he had a cold.

Sherlock smiled wickedly and slipped his tongue out, parting his perfect lips. The tip grazed the inside of John's hip and he groaned, the muscles straining. Slowly, his tongue slipped from the hip over the bone and as John's member brushed his face, John gasped and arched, his body shaking. Sherlock slipped his hands up, over John's legs and caressed his hips, rising to his ribs and rounding about his back only to grasp the round curve of John's butt. Once he had a firm grip, Sherlock dipped his head down, almost all of John's length down his throat.

John raised his hands to his face, grasping his jaw and lips closed. He wanted to moan loud, to call Sherlock's name. He wanted to cry out his need for more but didn't trust his voice. There was no telling how far a voice could carry in this house.

Sherlock played for what seemed like hours upon John's sensitive skin, pushing him to the brink between pleasure and pain with the wait of orgasm. Just as suddenly as he had started giving head, Sherlock pulled back and smiled down at John. John let out a guttural groan, knuckles white above his mouth. Sherlock grabbed John and hauled him up, flipping him over so his face was in the bed. As Sherlock gripped John's hips, risen up like an obedient dog, John groaned into the bottom sheets.

Sherlock grabbed a bottle from his nightstand and John twisted enough to watch as he poured message oil onto his hands and gently, slowly rubbing it onto himself.

"My mother believes I give myself the best of foot messages." Sherlock murmured, enjoying the hungry look in John's eyes as he watched Sherlock rub up and down. When he put oil onto his hands, John turned around and Sherlock messaged the oil onto his back and butt, taking special care to the entrance which produced expectant moans.

Without further ado, Sherlock shifted forward with his whole body and, though it was rough and tight, slipped all the way to his base. John cried out, biting into his own fist. Inside of his mind, Sherlock felt joy tingle everywhere. Satisfaction at finally feeling this sensation burst through his mind like fireworks.

Though he was most likely in pain, John groaned in a pleased way. His whole body seemed to relax, if just a fraction, in Sherlock's grip. Gently, Sherlock rocked back and forth, testing the waters. The lube helped so much that he was positive John was already forgetting the pain. With a cocky smile, Sherlock raised his tempo and John took in a sharp breath, gasping out a strangled version of, "Oh, God."

Breathing out in gasps, John bent his fingers into the bed sheets. Sherlock bent down, sliding a hand from John's hip to his crotch where he curved his fingers around John's length and rubbed to the same tempo as his hips. Gradually, as John's moans and Sherlock's ragged breathing became more needy, Sherlock moved faster and harder. The precision and careful aim he had when going a slow, steady rhythm died as speed took precedence.

Sherlock slid his free hand up to John's shoulder, trying to keep balance as he became slick with sweat. He felt, as well as heard in John's breathing, as the man became closer and closer. The simple, yet heavy knowledge of the pleasure John was surrounded in gave Sherlock the pleasure enough to feel close himself.

The last few minutes of the passion-fueled activities were strained and rough, both males fighting to bring each other to their full. Sherlock shivered, the feeling of John's length pulsing in his hand as he came over Sherlock's fingers and bed. A split second later, Sherlock came inside John, the feeling so good he lost vision.

With a shudder and a moan, Sherlock realized the strangled moan wasn't just his, but John's. A smirk crawled across his face as he slipped from John and dropped onto the bed. John smiled and relaxed, dropping to his stomach and reaching a hand out, Sherlock, though he was still just as uncomfortable with contact as before, tangled his fingers with John's.

Once John was asleep, Sherlock rose from the bed and went for a shower. The noises they had made hadn't woken his parents, which wouldn't have mattered either way. They let Sherlock do anything he wanted, so long as his grades were perfect and his lessons were had every day.

Sighing happily for the first time in ages, Sherlock slipped back into bed and admitted to himself that he was more than a little bit looking forward to touching John.


	9. The End of School

Nothing had changed between them. They never talked or touched in school until after John's practice when they shared a shower, almost always ending in a passionate embrace. Afterwards, they went their separate ways.

It had been about three weeks since Sherlock had found out about John's father and had agreed to keep it all as secret as possible. Three weeks since Sherlock had cracked John's shell and had him admit he felt attracted to Sherlock. Two weeks since John's girlfriend had broken up with him because apparently he was "too busy" to pay attention to her. Sherlock knew it was because John didn't sleep with her and ignored her texts and calls when they were together. One week since John had told Sherlock he wanted to go to a good college.

It had been about five minutes since John had told Sherlock he was going to the army to become a doctor.

"It's what I want, I promise." John begged at Sherlock, who hadn't said a single word nor made any recognition towards John. In honesty, he didn't know how he felt. He didn't know what it was inside of him that raged so fully it about tore him to pieces. It wasn't anger or sadness. He was happy, too, but it wasn't the right word. What did someone feel in this situation?

John grabbed Sherlock at the shoulders and shook him. Sherlock realized he hadn't even been blinking while he was internally trying to figure out what he was feeling.

"If it's what you want, John, I agree you should do it. I have nothing against you following your dreams."

"That's all you have to say? The college is not close."

"I know where the college is, John."

Pursing his lips, John dropped his hands from Sherlock's shoulders and backed off, going to a shower head and letting the water wash over him. Sherlock was now irritated. Wasn't he supposed to be glad for John? The potential John had was amazing. There was no reason for him to squander it in such a small town as this simply to stay next to Sherlock.

"I will miss you." Sherlock said finally and John turned. It was the most emotional pairing of words he'd ever heard come from Sherlock's lips. It said more than he'd ever thought he'd hear. Possibly the most he would ever hear.

Instead of responding with words, John came to him and they showered together without sex. They enjoyed one another's company and spoke not at all. At the end, they dressed and John insisted he walk Sherlock home.

"It's not necessary. Me walking you would seem more appropriate."

"Not with my father around. Besides, I'm not done talking with you."

Eyeing John and seeing he would continue to argue the point until they got into an argument and stopped speaking to one another for a time, Sherlock shrugged and started walking. John smiled and followed quickly.

"It's not a huge deal, honest." John said after a few moments' pause.

"I didn't say it was."

"Yeah, I know." John mumbled, lowering his head. Sherlock sighed, but kept moving.

"John, I know this thing between us isn't going to last forever. We are two different people with two different interests. I'm going to a different college than you and we may never see each other again afterwards. I've come to understand such a thing is not only possible, but inevitable." Sherlock hadn't looked at John once, not even sure what the words would do to him.

John was glad Sherlock didn't look at him. He felt the threatening tears in his eyes and new his face was red from holding back the emotions. His fists were clenched so tightly he already felt the sore ache in his muscles. He couldn't think of a way to excuse Sherlock's words, aside from the fact that it was surely exactly how Sherlock saw the situation.

Together, they'd been sleeping with each other less than a month and Sherlock very obviously saw it as enough. And yet, regardless of how furious John was, he slowly relaxed the farther they walked in silence. Sherlock didn't once glance back, but John was still okay with this.

Of course Sherlock was okay with John leaving. He'd said he was planning on his own college. The two of them had their whole lives ahead of them and who were they to stop the other from going out and doing what they loved? John wouldn't expect Sherlock to pause his life for one second because of him.

Quickly, John rushed forward and grabbed Sherlock's hand. Surprised, Sherlock didn't react for a moment but he soon relaxed and griped John's fingers. The rest of the walk they spent without talking.

At Sherlock's home, the boy turned to John but John shook his head.

"We've a few weeks of school left and I wanted to tell you that nothing will change. When school ends, we'll spend summer days together when we're both free." He brought Sherlock's hands up to his mouth and kissed each finger in turn. "When we move away from one another, I'll write. If you don't give me the address, I'll right to your Mum because we both know she loves me. She'd chase you down, we both know it." Sherlock smiled and leaned down, kissing John.

From the doorway, Sherlock's Mum called out for him to hurry up, they were headed to town for groceries. Ignoring her, Sherlock gave John a good snogging before letting him go.

"Keep an eye on your phone. I'll text you when I want to you to come tonight." Sherlock demanded and John nodded, already excited at the prospect of another night wrapped in the warmth of Sherlock's arms, bed sheets, body heat.

The last day of school was as promised, as well as the days before had been. Everything was the exact same between the two boys and, as a gift, John, for the first time in Sherlock's life, surprised Sherlock.

As the kids were bustling about, trying to get outside, John found Sherlock already out, leaning against one of the railings on the staircase. Kids were avoiding him, as per usual, so it was easy to get to him. Kids stopped and stared as John, one of the most popular boys in school, slipped into Sherlock's bubble and wrapped his arms around the boy.

Surprised, Sherlock stiffened and almost shoved John away as hard as possible. John smiled up at him and slipped his body as close to Sherlock's as possible, giving a gentle kiss to his cheek. Sherlock looked to the kids, who stopped and gawked at the spectacle. Half the football team had stopped already and had furious or surprised looks upon their faces.

John was obviously aware of what he was doing, and where. Sherlock didn't have a right to stop him because he enjoyed the attention, and John was a being capable of making his own decisions. If that meant fucking his reputation to bits the last few minutes of being around the school group, so be it. Sherlock decided to go along with it, like it was perfectly normal to do this here, now. He placed his hands on John, making it obvious this wasn't the first time. He shifted John with precision as well and bent his head down, lips gently grazing the skin of his neck. Sherlock was rewarded with a hiss and a small pressure that meant John was attempting to escape.

Sherlock allowed it, John slipping a few inches away. Not afraid of the onlookers who were now making rude comments, John leaned all the way forward this time and Sherlock smirked as their lips met. In view of anyone who could see or cared to watch, Sherlock and John kissed on the school steps.

It was a raging hell to leave afterwards. They had to push and pull each other to get through the crowd of cat-callers or John's ex teammates that demanded answers that were obvious. At least, to Sherlock. Once free, though, they bolted at an almost dead run to Sherlock's house where they finished what they had started.

John had to leave for college earlier than Sherlock. There was a ton of paperwork to be done since he'd slip from college straight into the army, all the while getting experience as a doctor.

"When you get there, send a letter." Sherlock reminded John for the millionth time. "That way I'll have the address the whole time." John was painfully aware Sherlock had never once said he'd write back. He comforted himself knowing that he did agree to John writing all the time. Whenever he wanted. Four times a day if it came to that.

The night before he moved, John stayed with Sherlock because the boy didn't want to be there when any of his friends that had gotten over the gay scene came to say goodbye.

"You know I won't say it again," Sherlock mumbled into John's ear as they lay half asleep.

"I know." John mumbled back.

_I will miss you._

* * *

**This is it for this story but I will be making a second follow up. Starts with how the separation and letters turn up and then goes to John coming home wounded, shoulder wound and brain injury where he can't remember anything. Stay tuned :)**


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